


Midwinter

by Hecate_Hexx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Baby Amell, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Circle Mages, Circle Tower (Dragon Age), Circle of Magi, Complete, Cute, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Kinloch Hold (Dragon Age), Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Mages (Dragon Age), Midwinter, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins, Sappy, Satinalia (Dragon Age), Secret Crush, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Snow, Snowball Fight, Solstice, Templars (Dragon Age), UST, Winter Solstice, Yule, baby Anders, baby cullen, will they won't they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28035168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecate_Hexx/pseuds/Hecate_Hexx
Summary: Cullen has never spent Satinalia at the Tower before, but even the thought of midwinter away from his family pales in comparison to the poor celebrations the mages have to look forward to. When he realises that his crush Solona Amell wants to decorate a tree, he spies a chance to bridge the gulf between mages and Templars... for one night, at least. Pre-Origins, purely indulgent seasonal fluff.
Relationships: Amell & Cullen Rutherford, Amell/Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Rutherford & Female Warden, Cullen Rutherford/Circle Mage(s), Cullen Rutherford/Female Warden, Cullen Rutherford/Mage(s), Cullen Rutherford/Warden, Female Amell & Cullen Rutherford, Female Amell/Cullen Rutherford
Kudos: 4





	Midwinter

_~*The year 9:29 Dragon; Umbralis*~_

The sun was setting on Kinloch Hold, but curfew would not come for some time yet. Dark fell early this close to Midwinter, and the mages often studied long into the night.

Last Midwinter, Cullen had still been a recruit, allowed to return home for the Satinalia festival. Remembering the faces of his brother and sisters was almost painful. Mia’s hair had glowed in the light of a hundred candles as they’d hung bells and ribbons on the huge tree in the village green, Rosalie had shrieked and chased the other children, and Branson had even been brave enough to put a holly crown on the ugly statue in the square. Being inducted as a full Templar had always been Cullen’s dream, but it had come with its own losses. There would be no family leave for him until the spring at least.

The Tower could not have been more different than his forest-encircled home of Honnleath, but there were some vestiges of nature to be found here. The sky gardens of Kinloch Hold boasted raised walkways of grass set atop the largest and lowest ring of the Circle Tower, its continuing heights rising from the centre like the axle of a wheel. Stone walls ran its circumference, the height of two men, blocking out the view of Lake Calenhad but leaving the sky open. A controlled space for mages and Templars alike to feel the wind and sun, to break the monotony of Tower life…

And coincidentally, one of the favourite places of the apprentice Solona Amell.

Though many doors to his former life had closed for Cullen since coming to the Tower, Solona Amell was the light that shone through the cracks. He’d noticed her the moment he’d been stationed on the Apprentice Level. Of course; who wouldn’t? With her soft waves of moon-silver hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, it was impossible _not_ to notice her… but what he hadn’t expected was that she might notice him, too. The first few times she’d been the only one left in the library during his late shift, he’d been sure it was a coincidence. But then it had happened again, and again… and eventually, she’d begun to make conversation.

Templars and mages didn’t chat, as a rule. Most of the mages preferred to pretend he didn’t exist, and the apprentices seemed downright fearful, though he’d always tried to smile if one caught his eye. He’d watched her a hundred times as she spoke politely to a senior enchanter or helped one of her peers with their research, but when Solona first approached him near the bell of curfew in the library, he couldn’t quite believe it. She’d been shy, stuttering almost as much as him, asking clumsy questions about his day and commenting banally on the weather. She was already pretty enough to make his heart race, but unbelievably, she turned out to be even nicer than she was beautiful.

Then one day, when the last mage had left the library, she’d brought out a chess board. Cheeks flaming, she’d asked if he wanted a game. “I’m hopeless,” she entreated, as if that explained it. “Jowan beats me every time. I heard you played with your sister, and I thought it might be less boring than standing next to the wall all night…”

She’d been _talking_ to people about him? Enough to know that he played chess? It had been all he could do not to let the pieces betray how much his hands were shaking. He could hardly remember one move from the next, lost in the glow of candlelight on her skin and the little frown of concentration between her brows. His strategy was so pathetic that Mia would have crushed him in minutes, but Solona still lost. She really _was_ hopeless, he realised with amusement. He supposed even Irving’s star pupil had to be bad at something.

He cherished those brief moments, awkward and tentative though they were. Her smile came easily when they spoke, but there was a sadness that haunted her too, most evident when she wandered the sky gardens alone. Among the neat ornamental planters, solitude brought her sorrow to the fore. She looked wistful and melancholy. Once he saw her cry, very quietly and discreetly, and he’d gone to sleep on his rough pallet that night feeling like his heart was bruised. But no matter the effect on her mood, Solona sought the gardens more than any other part of the Tower. She could be found there in all weathers. And so today, though the light was fading and snow pillowed the ground, Cullen was not surprised to see her approach the garden doors as he stood guard.

He'd been at his post for the better part of three hours, and his shift was almost finished when he saw her round the corner. The sight of her made his heart jump, as it always did, though he did his best not to show it. She was with a group of her friends; the ubiquitous Jowan, of course, alongside the perky elven apprentice Neria with her bird’s nest of fiery curls, and a young mage with a sandy-blond ponytail whom Cullen didn’t recognise. Catching sight of him by the doors, a sudden brightness flashed across Solona’s face – was she pleased to see him? He felt his lips responding with a shy smile before he could help it.

“H-Hello. It’s cold out there,” he said by way of greeting, ostensibly addressing all of them but unable to take his eyes off Solona. She was enveloped in a thick cloak of cobalt blue the same colour as her eyes, its hood lined with fluffy white fur that framed her face like a halo. There was no trace of that sweet and terrible sadness now, to his relief.

“Hello Cullen,” she beamed, for all the world as if he was the person she most wanted to see. His heart squeezed. “Don’t worry – we came prepared!” She held up her hands for inspection, encased in soft wool gloves. As she did so, he noticed the small bundles she and her companions carried.

“Tree dressing?” he said in surprise, looking around the group. Indeed, they all held trinkets of copper and tin; tangles of purloined ribbon offcuts; whatever they’d been able to scrape together. The orchards of the sky gardens were stunted through lack of rich soil, hardly comparing to the forest-grown pines Cullen was used to from Honnleath, but of course they were the only trees the mages had access to.

“Is that allowed?” asked the sandy-haired mage archly, a hint of cynicism in his cat-green eyes. He held up a ragged strip of red ribbon, examining it with exaggerated suspicion. “I don’t _think_ it’s got a demon in it… but you never can tell, can you?”

Neria and Solona rolled their eyes in unison. _“Anders,”_ the elf muttered in exasperation.

It was so absurd that Cullen let out a snort of laughter, momentarily forgetting both his self-consciousness and his stutter. “If it grows a mouth and starts promising you eternal power, come find me.”

A spark of warmth crept into the mage’s eyes, as if Cullen had passed some test. “Will do.”

A rush of cold air and a flurry of snowflakes danced into the hallway as Jowan tugged open the door, clearly eager to be done with the questioning. As the group shouldered out into the frozen air, Solona paused and looked back at Cullen, fading beams of sunset slanting across her face. “I don’t suppose you’d like join us…?”

The request took him by surprise – _yes, Maker, yes I would_ – but as if to remind him, the brass-plated clock above the door chimed the quarter hour. “I can’t leave my post while I’m on shift,” he said reluctantly.

The disappointment in her eyes nearly killed him. “Another time, maybe,” she said softly.

 _Please, yes,_ he tried to say, but the words stuck in his throat. He watched her clatter down the steps to her companions, their footsteps kicking up flurries of powdery white. The heavy door, creaking on its counterweight, reflected the distant sunset as it swung shut. Then Cullen was alone in the quiet hallway once more, with only a scattering of melting snow on the floor to keep him company.

He listened to the muffled sound of their voices through the rest of his shift, laughter interspersed with the occasional yelp which no doubt signified a mischievous snowball. By the time the clockhand had moved to its zenith, Cullen’s replacement would be on their way, and he had made up his mind.

As if on cue, an armoured figure materialised round the corner. _Althea._ Cullen’s heart leapt. One of the Tower’s only female Templars (and probably the one who’d told Solona about the chess), Althea was two years older than Cullen and a friend as well as a colleague. Of all the people to take over his shift, she would probably have the least objection to the hasty plan that was forming in his mind. Maybe the Maker was smiling on him today.

“Reinforcements!” Althea said cheerfully as she approached, wincing as she stepped into the draught by the doorway. “Bloody cold, isn’t it?”

Cullen smiled. With her soft brown eyes and spray of freckles, Althea had always reminded him of Mia. “Just a bit. There’s, um… there’s a few people in the garden. Just some apprentices and a mage. They won’t be any trouble.” He felt for a moment like he’d been caught in a guilty act. Surely something as innocent as tree dressing couldn’t do any harm…? He knew, though, that some of his superiors would have forbidden them even that small pleasure. He sent up a prayer of thanks that Althea had been next on the roster.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” she reassured, rubbing her hands together. “Go get warm – there’s mulled wine in the kitchens.”

 _Mulled wine?_ That gave him a second idea. “Thanks. I’ll, um… I’ll see you in a minute, actually. I’m coming back.”

Althea raised her eyebrows. “Coming back?” She angled her head towards the voices outside, just as Solona’s silvery laughter floated through the door. Cullen felt colour come to his cheeks. Althea looked away, a smile tugging the side of her mouth. “Just some apprentices, huh? Ok, Cullen. See you in a minute, then.”

He hurried back along the corridor, willing the blush to fade. It would be tricky enough to execute his plan without looking like he was up to no good. At the tunnel that separated the Templar compound from the Chantry stores, he took a breath. Now, to see if the Maker really was with him tonight…

Twenty minutes and a brief extra stop by the kitchens later, he was back at the garden door without incident, determinedly ignoring Althea’s smirk.

“Don’t you start,” he warned.

“I said nothing,” she trilled innocently, opening the door for him. As he went through, she snatched the carafe from his hands and took a quick sip – fair payment, he supposed – before handing it back. “Don’t get too cold.”

Her words rang true as the icy air struck him like a knife in the throat. Shivering, he made his way around the curve of the path towards the sound of voices. It was almost full dark now, but the newly-risen moon was bright as a beacon, keeping him from stumbling. When he reached the orchard, the chattering stopped abruptly and four figures turned in alarm, their anxious faces bathed in silver light. The decorations they’d draped on every available branch were painstakingly woven, but battered and threadbare. There was only so much they would have been able to find on their own.

“Cullen!” Solona’s voice washed through him like a warm drink, sounding both hopeful and surprised.

“Do we have to go in?” Neria had paused, disappointed, in the act of tying a faded ribbon to a branch.

They hadn’t seen what he was holding. They thought he was here to chivvy them inside, to cut short the small enjoyment they were allowed. _I should have taken my armour off,_ he realised. Why hadn’t he done that? He’d been in such a rush to find what he needed. He stuttered, feeling self-consciousness slam back into him. “N-no, I… brought some things.”

But Solona had already spied them. With a tiny noise of delight that made him melt inside, she darted forward and plucked a velvet ribbon from the bundle in his arms. “Cullen… these are gorgeous! Did you bring these for us?”

Anders immediately spied the second fruit of Cullen’s labours, snatching up the warm carafe with disbelieving glee. “Wine? You brought _wine?”_ He drank deep, closing his eyes in epicurean bliss. “Oh, this one can definitely stay. Why can’t they all be like him?”

“You’re welcome,” Cullen said dryly, making even Jowan laugh.

And all of a sudden, the barriers were down. They cleared a patch in the snow and sorted through the pile, chattering in excitement. Solona cooed with joy at a string of jewelled brass birds, while Neria ran a strip of golden silk through her fingers appreciatively. There had been more in the Chantry store than would ever be used in the chapel. Some of the dusty boxes had never even been opened.

As they bedecked the small orchard together, it seemed as if another world had opened between them. As if he was no more a Templar than they were mages; as if they were any group of giddy teenagers on any village green in Midwinter. Neria and Anders tossed bawdy jokes back and forth, and Jowan turned out to have a self-deprecating wit that made Cullen snort more than once. As for Solona…

She was stretching to drape the jewelled birds she had so admired over a particular branch. Perhaps it was the mulled wine that lent him courage, but in a moment of pure mischief he reached up and tweaked the branch sharply, sending a shower of snow onto her upturned face.

She made a noise like a squirrel being strangled, gasping in outrage as she frantically shook out her hair, scattering droplets over everyone nearby. “Cullen, you _beast!”_ her indignant disbelief was almost funnier than the jape itself. Neria exploded in giggles; Jowan let out an incredulous guffaw. Solona snatched a branch of her own, a determined gleam in her eye. Cullen yelped as the snow cascaded onto them both; her aim was worse than a drunken archer.

“Truce; truce! Forgive me,” he begged, holding out his hands in supplication.

Solona’s scandalised expression softened; she dissolved into giggles. “Come here, you idiot,” she said. “Your hands are practically blue.” Taking her gloves off and tucking them in her belt, she took both his hands in hers. At the softness of her unexpected touch, Cullen’s heart leapt into overdrive, his mind going blank with shock. Invisible lightning raced up both his arms. _She’s holding my hands. She’s touching me. She’s – oh Maker –_

Warmth spread through his skin as Solona concentrated on magically heating his chilled fingers, bathing them in golden spell-light. Her hair fell in silken waves around her face, shaken loose from her hood. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. There was melting snow on her eyelashes. For a mad moment, he thought he might actually kiss her right there in front of everyone.

That was, until Anders snowballed him in the face. Then it was war.

When a group-wide surrender was finally called, they flopped exhausted and dripping to the ground of the orchard, the clearing swept almost clean from their snowy battle. A cloud had covered the moon, plunging them into darkness. “If you’ve all quite finished being barbaric,” Neria said imperiously, rubbing her damp ringlets with her cloak, “how about some lights?”

Cullen sat up, feeling a sudden pang. “Oh no – I forgot candles!” How could he have forgotten the most important part?

Anders laughed, but not unkindly. “Don’t worry, friend; we brought our own. Everyone ready?”

The four mages arranged themselves in a hasty circle, seated cross-legged under the trees. Solona’s knee was touching Cullen’s; he felt tingles all down his leg. As he watched, the mages raised their palms in the darkness, and lights began to bloom. Softly at first, then stronger as each pinprick candle-flame left their upraised hands, floating and flickering to rest on the bedecked boughs. Strewn above them like a rainbow constellation, the lights radiated gentle heat onto the clearing. Cullen had heard that each mage produced a different colour flame, but had never witnessed it so clearly before. Neria’s was clear sunny gold, as bold and effervescent as her personality. Anders’ was burnt umber with a deep heart of crimson. Jowan’s was a pale marshlight, silvery green. And Solona’s…

Solona’s flame glowed bright warm cream at the centre, deepening at the edges into a blue as vibrant as her eyes, flickering like the wings of the morpho butterflies Cullen used to catch in Honnleath. The play of colours took his breath away.

They sat together beneath the coloured star-field, passing around the diminishing carafe and making companionable conversation. Cullen, feeling tongue-tied again, listened more than he spoke. The friends seemed so easy and affectionate with each other, so normal and carefree, that his heart ached unexpectedly. _We’re all just normal teenagers. The Chantry is wrong; mages are just people, like anyone else. We shouldn’t treat them with such suspicion and distrust, to take away their freedom and cut off their friendships…_ watching their banter made him long for the family and friends he’d left back at home, but gave him hope he might find some at the Tower instead, despite the Knight-Commander’s warnings of fraternisation. All it had taken was an armful of ribbons and some mulled wine. Why did the Templars have to be so hard on them?

“It won’t be long, I expect,” Anders was saying as Cullen returned from his mental wanderings. “Mine was bang on eighteen. You’re all there already; you’ll probably be called by Summerday. Then you can get out of those blasted dorms and actually have a bathroom to yourself for a change.”

“About time,” Jowan grumbled. “I just want to get it over with.”

“I’d love a room of my own,” Solona said wistfully.

They were talking about Harrowings, Cullen realised. He felt an uncomfortable squirm under his ribs. He’d overheard the First Enchanter talking to Knight-Commander Greagoir last week; Solona was undoubtedly in line before the spring, but there had been no mention of Jowan or Neria. He could hardly tell them that, though. The knowledge made him feel unpleasantly duplicitous. He tried to steer the focus away from the apprentices, addressing Anders instead. “When did you Harrow? I don’t think I’ve seen you around much.”

Anders gave him an odd look. “A year ago. I’ve been… in a different part of the Tower.” He cocked his head at Cullen inscrutably. “You’ve not long been promoted to full Templar, have you?”

“I’ve been in the compound as a recruit for a while, but I only took full vows and started shifts in the Tower at Midsummer. I’m stationed on the first two levels, mostly. They don’t send me further up very much.”

“Ah, well,” Anders said cryptically. “That would explain it, I suppose.”

The sudden noise of a twig snapping outside the circle of light made them all jump. Cullen felt an impulsive rush of guilty internal babblings – _we were just talking, nothing happened, they were just dressing the trees, we didn’t do anything wrong –_ before he sighed in relief at the familiar figure. _Althea. It’s just Althea._

“Wow!” exclaimed his fellow Templar, looking around at their handiwork. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” She smiled, her freckles creasing across her nose. “Sorry to break it up, but it’s curfew. Time to come inside.”

Cullen’s four companions obeyed with such resigned submissiveness that for a moment he felt a chill in his spine. Like they had done this a thousand times before; like they were utterly used to having every aspect of their lives dictated. It was only Althea, and she was probably the most lenient Templar in the Tower, but… a moment ago, they had just been five teenagers. Now they were once more separated by the eternal gulf, as invisible yet undeniable as the Veil.

At the door, Althea stamped the snow off her feet. “I’ll see Anders back upstairs. I know you’re off shift, Cullen, but could you walk the other three back to the dorms? It’s on your way.”

“Of course,” Cullen said softly, not quite sure why he felt so sad. He was once again overtly aware of the armour he hadn’t changed out of, and he didn’t _feel_ off-shift. He wondered briefly why Althea would need to escort Anders – surely a fully Harrowed mage could be trusted to return to his room? But they were gone before he could ask.

The short walk to the Apprentice Quarters was silent, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Cullen watched the torchlight gleam on Solona’s hair. Would the stars ever align like this again? Would there be a time when they could meet with fewer restrictions, and recapture that indescribable feeling of companionship that was already haunting him by its absence? When she’d passed her Harrowing, perhaps, and had more freedom… _please, Maker,_ _let her pass unscathed. Irving says she’s the most talented protégé he’s ever had; surely she’ll be alright._

Far too soon, they had reached the dormitory doors. “Thanks for the wine,” Neria smiled at him, her wild curls making her look like she’d crawled through a hedge backwards.

Jowan nodded his own thanks, though his expression was more neutral now the barriers had come back down. “You coming?” he said to Solona, catching her arm a little possessively.

“Um… in a minute,” she said awkwardly. “You two go on.”

Neria pulled Jowan away with a significant look. Cullen’s heart began to thump. The corridor was deserted.

Solona fiddled with a corner of her cloak. “It was… it was so lovely for you to bring us all those things, Cullen,” she said softly. Rosy pink was beginning to stain her cheeks. She looked up at him, and her eyes were bluer than the depths of Lake Calenhad. He thought he was going to melt into a puddle right there on the floor. “I wish…”

 _I wish, too._ He couldn’t form the words. He wished so many things.

Solona raised a hand, touching a lock of his tawny hair. Cullen’s breath failed. Before he knew it, she was leaning up – _Maker oh Maker this can’t be real is this really happening –_ and pressed her lips softly to his.

Stars clouded his vision. Fireworks were going off in his head.

“Happy Satinalia, Cullen,” Solona whispered.

_~fin.~_

**Author's Note:**

> I just put my tree up, and I'm feeling fluffy as all hell. What way to celebrate than with baby Cullen and baby Amell, in a sweeter and more innocent time? 2020 sucked; let me have this, damn it.


End file.
